


Movie Night

by beetle



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Artificial Intelligence, Bad Dirty Talk, Dirty Talk, Ensemble Cast, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gil's sex life is grist for the mill, If ya can dodge a wrench ya can dodge a ball, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Romance, M/M, Movie Night, Romance, SAM gets warm-fuzzies, The Tempest, no redeeming value
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 12:21:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11013324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beetle/pseuds/beetle
Summary: What it says on the tin. Pure fluff, a tinge of angst, and warm-fuzzies. And The Dread Pirate SAM.





	Movie Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stitchcasual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stitchcasual/gifts), [ghostofshe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostofshe/gifts).



> Notes/Warnings: Set post-game by a few years, vague spoilers.
> 
> To stitchcasual, for prompting me--I went WAAAAAAAY off prompt--and cheering me on. To Ghostofshe, for not knowing the characters, but liking them anyway <3

 

“ _. . . if ya can dodge a wrench, ya can dodge a ball!_ ” Patches O’Houlihan declared gruffly, before lobbing a wrench at the youngest member of the Average Joe’s dodge ball team.

 

Liam, Cora, Suvi, Gil, and Ryder snickered almost helplessly—there were actual tears in Liam’s eyes—while Drack, Kallo, Lexi, Vetra, Jaal, and PeeBee exchanged glances.

 

“Humans are so weird,” PeeBee mouthed at Lexi, who nodded in fervent agreement.

 

“So . . . _why_ is the crazy, old human throwing wrenches at them?” Kallo asked, sounding utterly mystified. Jaal took up the refrain.

 

“Yes . . . I, too, am wondering how this trains one to dodge rubber balls.”

 

“Weren’t you two listening? It’s not rocket science,” Gil drawled, glancing up at Cora, who was sitting on the couch to PeeBee’s left, and winking. Cora smirked back and, at the same time, they both said: “If ya can dodge a wrench, ya can dodge a ball!”

 

Jaal made a confused face. Lexi and Vetra snorted. On PeeBee’s right, Drack grunted and shrugged. PeeBee huffed, and Kallo blinked and shook his head. “That’s spurious reasoning, at best.”

 

“Says a man who’s never played the Sport of Champions.” Gil, sitting on the floor in front of the couch, next to Kallo, elbowed the pilot lightly. “I guarantee you, if you spend an afternoon dodging wrenches, after that, dodging balls is easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy.”

 

This time, Kallo was the one to huff. “Well, by _that_ logic, if one can dodge, oh, say . . . traffic, one can dodge a _ball_!” 

 

The five humans all exchanged glances and Liam opened his mouth to say something, but Ryder held up her right hand. In her left, was a Varren’s Jaw—Ryder’s third, because . . . the Pathfinder prided herself on holding her liquor with the best of them. At least, until she _couldn’t_ , anymore. “Zip it, Liam.”

 

“But—”

 

“Nawp!” Ryder bent a stern look on Liam and he deflated a bit, sighing and grumbling, then scooting his wheeled chair closer to the projector, ignoring Jaal’s warning that if he got too much closer, he might suffer brain damage. Cora smirked up at the Angara—who was standing next to the couch and leaning on the arm—and nudged him with her elbow. He smiled down at her, small and unabashedly smitten.

 

“Yes, my martial blossom?” he asked, leaning down to kiss her cheek with tender reverence. Cora’s smirk became a somewhat smitten smile, too, and she leaned in to whisper in Jaal’s ear. In seconds, the Angara’s eyes widened. “Oh, my,” he said rather breathlessly, clearing his throat. Twice.

 

Cora sat back with a throaty chuckle, taking Jaal’s hand and standing up.

 

“Not that this hasn’t been fun, crew, but . . . I’m really feeling that Euphemistically Delicious, like a freight train. I’m off to bed to sleep it off.”

 

“But . . . you’ve barely touched yours,” Kallo protested, his brow furrowing. Cora sent him an exasperated look. Jaal, meanwhile, was frowning.

 

“Yes,” he agreed, sounding puzzled. “I thought you said we were going to your quarters to—”

 

“G’night, everybody!” Cora said, loud and bright, hurrying out of the darkened room with a wave and towing a slightly confused, but always eager Jaal behind her.

 

This time, _everyone—_ but for Kallo—exchanged glances, knowing and amused, then turned their attentions, with more or less success, back to the old, Terran classic.

 

“ _If ya can dodge traffic,_ ” Patches O’Houlihan declared not long after, “ _ya can dodge a ball!_ ”

 

“Ugh. Kill. Me. Now,” Kallo sighed, shaking his head. Gil guffawed as, above the projector, one of the characters proceeded to dodge traffic successfully . . . until he _didn’t_ , anymore. Suvi giggled delicately, then snorted markedly less so, as a large, ground transport hit the nervous man.

 

“Oooh!” Vetra gasped suddenly, as her omnitool gave a discreet ping. She bounced up to her feet, sauntering toward the exit with a graceful, no-nonsense stride. “Scott’s calling! Um . . . I’ll, uh, see you guys later?”

 

“Tell my idiot brother he could call _me, too_ , sometime!” Ryder called after Vetra, who was already gushing animatedly into her omnitool. “And tell Thessia and Hayden Auntie Sara says hi! Give them kisses for me!”

 

“Yep. _Lotsa_ kisses,” Drack agreed gruffly, glaring at the snickering crewmembers around him before pointedly ignoring them. He made no bones about his affection for Vetra and Scott’s twins. He doted—as much as a Krogan could—on his “niece and nephew.”

 

Gil, meanwhile, was watching Vetra go with a brooding, envious expression. He stared at the exit for several minutes after she left, his fingers hovering restlessly over his own omnitool, until Drack groaned.

 

“What’s it been? Six hours since ya talked to him?” he asked, rolling his eyes and lightly kicking Gil’s arm. The engineer glared up at Drack absently, then looked back at his omnitool. “Go, call your Turian boyfriend, kid.”

 

“He’s _not_ my boyfriend,” Gil sniffed, nonetheless taking the suggestion to heart. He got to his feet, stretched till the cracking-sounds stopped, then strolled toward the exit with head high and shoulders back. “He’s a brilliant colleague I happen to find stimulating on an . . . intellectual level.”

 

“Uh-huh.” Drack gargled out a gravelly laugh. “I go around complimenting the crests and fringe of all _my_ intellectually-stimulating ‘colleagues,’ too.” Another snort. “ _Oh, Caius . . . you’ve got the most masculine crest I’ve ever seen and your fringe is so_ rigid _. . . I can’t wait to feel your talons all over my skin, and get stretched by your big, thick_ —”

 

“Please, stop!” Kallo complained, after nearly choking on his espresso. Gil paused, half-out the door, then spun around to gape at Drack, his face gone fuschia.

 

“You—how did you—”

 

Drack toasted Gil with his bottle of Nova. “What you and your Turian boyfriend do is none of _our_ business . . . except when you do it over open comms. Remember to switch to private comms or get mocked.”

 

“I have to concur,” Liam said, making a face, but not looking away from the movie. Lexi hummed and crossed her legs, inching her chair a bit further from the projector.

 

“I’ll third that sentiment . . . though, if you haven’t already seen a medical professional about engaging in cross-species sexual activity, see me before you do,” she said laconically. “Some of the . . . activities you expressed an interest in trying with a male Turian, while theoretically exciting, are logistically worrying and medically inadvisable. Not to mention physically impossible.”

 

Gil blanched, then went whatever color was deeper and more intense than fuschia, and hurried out of the room, followed by Liam’s and Drack’s laughter. The two even fist-bumped across PeeBee, who rolled her eyes.

 

“Oh, really. You’re such insufferable babbies, you two,” Suvi sniffed, though her lips were twitching with mirth. “You’re just jealous Gil’s got somebody, and you’re at loose-ends.”

 

“Not _me_ ,” Liam said proudly. “Lone-wolf till the day I die. Liam Kosta is jealous of no man.”

 

“Eh. Not the settlin’ down kind,” Drack agreed, and the two shared another fist-bump. This time, PeeBee waved their hands away irritably.

 

Fifteen minutes later, Kallo was groaning miserably and getting unsteadily to his feet, his _trippio_ Salarian espresso—the fourth of the day—half-finished and wholly forgotten next to where he’d been sitting.

 

“ _I sure do like pumpkins, Cott!_ ” Pepper Brooks exclaimed from above the projector, garnering a rather smoldering look from his cohort, Cotton McKnight.

 

“So . . . I don’t get it. Are those two sleeping together?” PeeBee asked as Kallo staggered toward the exit, clutching his gut.

 

“No!” Liam said, casting a glare back at her, and she held up her hands in placation. Ryder grinned and took a swig of her Varren’s Jaw.

 

“If they’re not, they _should_ be,” she said, leaning over the back of the couch to fist-bump PeeBee, who returned said bump with rolled eyes and a repressed smile. “ _I’d_ pay to see those two get horizontal.”

 

“Ew!” Liam groaned as pathetically as Kallo had. Lexi, meanwhile was sighing as she stood and followed the moaning pilot to the door.

 

“What did I _tell_ _you_ about imbibing Salarian coffee-beverages so late in the evening? You’re only making that ulcer you’re working on more and more likely to happen.”

 

“Salaraians don’t get ulcers,” Kallo whimpered and the rolling of Lexi’s eyes, as she put a comforting hand on his back, was practically audible.

 

“Of course, they don’t, Kallo,” she agreed dryly, then tossed back over her shoulder. “Enjoy the rest of the film . . . such as it is. With any luck, he’ll be out of the Med-Bay lavatory by morning.”

 

“T.M.I.,” Liam said, shaking his head and making a moue, rolling even closer to the projected hologram.

 

“I think she was using poor Kallo as an excuse to bail on the movie,” Suvi whispered when Lexi and Kallo were gone. Ryder barked a brief laugh.

 

“Ya think?”

 

“Not fair,” Liam muttered. “We sat through those boring Asari flicks she wanted to see . . . about relationships or . . . whatever. Yet not a single sex-scene to be had!”

 

“I rather enjoyed that second one—what was it? _The Three Stages of Eniah_?” Suvi nodded. “It was . . . very deep.”

 

Liam huffed. “At three and a half hours, it should’ve been!”

 

“Asari films _are_ cerebral, but quite moving,” Suvi said rather defensively. “Generally speaking.”

 

“Sounds like someone’s gettin’ p-whipped by her girlfriend. . . .” Liam teased, actually swiveling ‘round to waggle his eyebrows at Suvi, who blushed prettily. “Or is she _not_ your girlfriend, like Caius isn’t Gil’s boyfriend?”

 

Still bright pink, Suvi looked down at her twiddling thumbs. “Umi and I . . . are taking things slowly. With m’ duties, I don’t get to Kadara Port to see her as often as I’d like.” Sighing, the science officer looked back up with a game smile. “I _do_ miss her, though. Even just sitting and watching long, Asari films that I don’t quite understand, with her.”

 

In the melancholy silence that followed, PeeBee and Ryder exchanged a look and Drack kicked Liam’s chair hard enough that Liam nearly fell out of it. He glared at Drack—or started to, but then glanced at Suvi’s sad, distracted face and grimaced.

 

“Won’t be long till we port-up again. Just a few weeks,” he reassured Suvi rather awkwardly. She smiled that game smile again, grateful, but clearly not very reassured.

 

“Every time we do, I wonder . . . if that’ll be the time she tells me she’s . . . moving on,” Suvi admitted quietly.

 

Liam winced and turned back to the film with obvious discomfort. Even Drack seemed to be brooding a bit in the wake of that admission.

 

But for the film, the room was silent until PeeBee tentatively ventured: “Who’s Lance Armstrong?”

 

“Long story,” Liam grunted with vague distaste.

 

“Tell ya later, during the afterglow,” Ryder leaned down to murmur in PeeBee’s ear and the Asari shivered, turning her head slightly toward Ryder’s, her green eyes twinkling archly.

 

“Aren’t _you_ assuming rather a lot, Pathfinder,” she murmured back.

 

“I dunno.  _Am_ I?” Ryder retorted in a low voice that carried a bit farther than she probably thought. PeeBee batted her eyes and simpered.

 

“Yeah, butch. Like, that you’ll even manage to _stay awake_ during the afterglow, let alone string two thoughts together when _I’m_ through with you.”

 

After minute of silent, challenging stares and veiled looks, Ryder cleared her throat and stood, vaulting over the back of the couch to sit next to PeeBee, who smiled rather smugly. Then she leaned against Ryder, tucking her head under the Pathfinder’s chin with a satisfied sigh. Ryder put her arm around PeeBee’s shoulders and kissed her forehead.

 

None of which went unnoticed by Suvi, who smiled, though it didn’t reach her sad, worried eyes.

 

“I should probably go work on boosting the scanning software for the _Tempest’s_ forward sensor arrays,” she said brightly, standing up and making a beeline for the door, passing behind the couch to do so, but not glancing at the happy couple canoodling on it. “See you all in the morning, then. Excuse me.”

 

“No rest for the wicked, I guess,” Drack said when Suvi was well gone. Then he grunted and stood, glancing at the besotted pair left sitting and making a face. “ _Anyway_. I’m gonna go be somewhere this—” he aimed his thumb at Ryder and PeeBee, who were ignoring the film and their peers, in favor of staring into each other’s eyes “—and that—” Drack pointed his index finger at the projector and the film above it “—ain’t happenin’. Maybe I’ll sharpen my knives. . . .”

 

“Aw, c’mon!” Liam whined as Drack stumped out of the room. When the Krogan didn’t so much as slow down, Liam groaned and jumped to his feet, with one resentful glance at the couple on the couch. “What about the film? I can’t watch a good film _by myself!_ And . . . don’t—don’t leave me _alone with_ _them_! They’re bein’ _gross_! Drack, mate, come back!” Hurrying from the room, Liam’s voice could be heard trailing away, desperate and hopeful: “Can I _help_ you sharpen your knives? And you can tell me about the Rachni War? And I can fight to stay awake? It’ll be _fuuuuun_!”

 

“ _. . . money won is sweeter than money earned_ ,” Pete LeFleur said sagely, as Ryder and PeeBee continued staring at each other. PeeBee began to smile and Ryder’s dark eyes flashed.

 

“And that, my love, is how one wins at Movie Night,” she declared. PeeBee giggled.

 

“What—by clearing the room of even the most diehard movie-watchers with your sappy puppy-eyes and lame moves?”

 

“Nope. By managing to get the room _and_ the girl _aaaaaaallll_ to myself,” Ryder replied with great satisfaction, her gaze shifting slightly to PeeBee’s lips. Those lips curved in a playful smirk. "Well . . . except for SAM, that is."

 

“Hmm. In that case . . . now that you’ve won Movie Night, what’re you gonna do next?”

 

“Disney World?”

 

PeeBee rolled her eyes. “Kiss me, before I come to my senses and rethink this whole married-to-a-human-thing.”

 

Ryder chuckled and took PeeBee’s hand, pulling it up to her face to tenderly kiss the wedding band on PeeBee’s ring finger. Her eyes never left PeeBee’s and the Asari blushed, her smile turning vulnerable and yearning.

 

“‘As you wish,’” Ryder quoted, smirking expectantly. But PeeBee merely blinked up at her—also expectantly—and Ryder pouted as she realized the Asari had no idea what she was quoting. “SAM?”

 

“Yes, Pathfinder?” I intoned quietly, not just from Ryder’s implant, but from an embedded speaker in the ceiling. And loud enough to be heard over the music playing with the end credits. Ryder reached up to caress PeeBee’s cheek gently.

 

“Load _The Princess Bride_ . . . the remastered cut.”

 

With a system-wide sense of approval and irony—which, along with certain aspects of humor, I had been growing to appreciate—my reply was a direct sound-bite from the aforementioned film: “As you wish.”

 

The cheeky smile Ryder sent in the direction of the speaker was as warm as it was amused. “I’m gonna start callin’ _you_ The Dread Pirate SAM.”

 

Another system-wide sense shot through my programming. Were I an organic lifeform, I would describe the feeling as . . . _affection_. And perhaps . . .  fondness. Though not unprecedented as time went on, I nonetheless—as I had with _every_ noteworthy spontaneous emotion experienced since my initialization—archived the feeling and the moment that inspired it for later examination and . . . remembrance.

 

“ _Another_ human flick?” PeeBee asked, making a sulky expression as she glanced up at the ceiling, then back at Ryder. “Haven’t I suffered _enough_ for one Movie Night, dearest?”

 

“Oh . . . I think you’ll like this one,” Ryder said, leaning in until her forehead touched PeeBee’s. “And if you don’t, I’m fully prepared to make it up to you in a . . . fairly _epic_ way.”

 

PeeBee shivered again and met Ryder halfway for a kiss that lasted well beyond the few seconds it took to load the next film.

 

Then the espoused couple were cuddling close, in each other’s arms, as the first frame brightened into focus. I took that as my cue to absent myself . . . as much as I was _able_ to absent myself from my Pathfinders. (At the moment, I was simultaneously at the Nexus, watching from the back of Scott Ryder’s distracted mind, as he held a long-distance conversation with his wife while wrangling his energetic twin toddlers to the breakfast table. And Vetra Ryder was quaking with repressed laughter, her eyes shining with longing and love as the children giggled and babbled at their frazzled father.) In the space of a nanosecond, I’d gathered and aimed my processing power toward other matters. “Will there be anything else, Pathfinder?”

 

“Nope. Thanks, SAM. You’re a gem,” Ryder said absently, but no less warmly. “Rest well, buddy.”

 

“And you, as well, Ryder. PeeBee.”

 

“Night-night, SAM,” PeeBee sighed, waving at the ceiling. A moment later, the lion’s share of the attention that I had spared for my Pathfinder and her crew was shifted and refocused on other projects . . . with only a fraction of a percentage left behind just in case I was needed, after all. Only when I had completed several dozen open projects, and well ahead of schedule, did I refocus my attention once more. . . .

 

I cycled down all but my auxiliary systems as I turned down the projector’s audio-visual outputs and adjusted the temperature of the room, so the Pathfinder and her wife—who were sleeping soundly in each other’s arms—did not awaken chilled. Then I turned my attention to the last of the film—my favorite part, and the best moments in human cinematic history, in my opinion:

 

“ _. . . maybe you could come over and read it to me again, tomorrow. If you want,_ ” the Grandson offered hopefully. The Grandfather smiled and nodded once.

 

_“As you wish_ ,” he said, turning out the light and shutting the door gently as his grandson smiled, and rolled over to go to sleep.

 

As always, I archived the warmth, satisfaction, and contentment that spread throughout my awareness. I would examine it later, in-depth and at my leisure. But, for now . . . I would simply enjoy the sensation. Let it carry me away into an abstract rest-state comprised of thought and memory, hope and hypothesis.

 

(It’d been almost a year, since the Pathfinder started calling such meandering defragmenting of my background mind _dreaming_. She often inquired as to the nature of said dreams and not only listened to my descriptions, but listened to my thoughts on what they might mean. Sara Ryder . . . took me _and_ my dreams quite seriously, in a way even Alec Ryder had not.)

 

When the credits finished rolling, I shut down the projector and—but for those auxiliary programs and background applications—ostensibly myself: I went contentedly to sleep-mode . . . perchance to dream.

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> How's my characterization? Seriously?
> 
> Also, I'm on [The Tumbles](http://beetle-ships-it-all.tumblr.com)!


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